


step into the golden dawn

by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Panic Attack, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose
Summary: It’s still dark outside, only the first rays of sunlight beginning to peak out from behind the clouds. It’s a good thing to wake up to; a day just a few moments shy of being born.Or on what happens after.





	step into the golden dawn

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally finished this hahahaha. This fic just sort of came out of nowhere and I'm ridiculously happy about it but yeah, here you go :) Thanks to Riya for telling me that this fic isn't horrible :DD I'm late to the party as usual but whatever. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Watching Viktor skate has always been a somewhat religious experience for Yuuri. It’s still hard to comprehend that right now, in this moment of time and space, Yuuri is allowed to have this.  

 Allowed to see Viktor at his finest. See him wearing his training clothes, eyes closed, lost in his own world in the dark shadows of an empty rink. There has always been something so precise about the way Viktor skates in competition, something a little unreal. A little distant. He’s always been like a god among men, even when he was just starting out.

 Yuuri’s followed him for so long, had watched all his programs and had them ordered in neat, little lists in his mind: chronologically, alphabetically, highest to lowest score, favorite to least favorite; not that Viktor had a routine that Yuuri didn’t love.

 They all look so… insincere compared to how Viktor skates now.

 Viktor doesn’t know that Yuuri is here. Yuuri hadn’t been allowed to see the routine. It was a surprise, Viktor had said and Yuuri had been more than happy to comply. He finds it hard to say no to Viktor so he usually doesn’t.

 It had been an accident. It was the middle of the night and neither of them were supposed to be at the rink, though Yuuri supposes that he should have known that Viktor would be; after spending most of the day choreographing Yuuri’s free skate routine for the Four Continents and Worlds, even though Yuuri insisted that he didn’t need one. That it’s silly to change routines in the middle of a season when he has a perfectly good routine that still has some life left to give.

 (‘You’re going to take the world by storm, Yuuri,’ Viktor had said. ‘You’re different and you’re telling a different story now. Besides, you’re going to be dealing with me and Yurio now.’

 And Yuuri couldn’t exactly disagree with any of that.)

 Viktor would have needed time to make his own routines. Yuuri should have known. Still, he couldn’t help the mix of shock and dread and confusion when he awoke to a cold and empty bed. So he came to the rink to clear his head and had found Viktor still there, skating like an angel reaching down towards the Earth.

 He should have known Viktor would be there. And he should have left afterwards. But Yuuri had stayed and stared, entranced. He couldn’t help it. It’s hard to break twelve years’ worth of habit of being entranced by Viktor.

 Viktor came into his life with the force of a whirlwind. Both the first _and_ the second time.

 Yuuri, cliché as it might be, divides his life into two: Before Viktor and After Viktor. But After Viktor is also divided into two as well: Before Sochi and After Sochi.

 The first time he saw Viktor, Viktor hadn’t even known he existed.

 They had been separated by a television screen and thousands of miles of sea but Yuuri watched him and it was as if he could feel every single emotion in his posture. All of his routines told stories; the raise of his arm was a novella and the tilt of his head was a poem. His jumps were epics, long and musical, while his spins were haikus, small and containing worlds upon worlds within it.

 Yuuri had spent his entire life catching up with that, catching up with that unnamable story that Viktor continuously told.

 Until one day, it was Viktor who caught up with him instead.

 (They were in the hot springs when he had told Yuuri, in a voice of quiet reverence that Yuuri had never heard before, let alone thought would be directed at him, that he moved as if he made the music with his body. In the descent of his arms and the rising crescendo of his jumps.

 Nowadays, Yuuri tries to listen for it as he glides through the ice. For those gentle notes and soft cadences that Viktor told him he could make, as sure as the beating of his own heart. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and believes hard enough, he could almost think they’re real.)

 After Viktor is simpler. After Viktor is simply gliding across the ice, hands pressed against his heart; two planets constantly circling each other. After Viktor is strong arms around his waist and hot breath nuzzling against his neck. After Viktor is the warmth of an embrace. It is the waves of music constantly weaving their way into Yuuri’s heart.

  _Stammi vicino,_ Yuuri cannot help but think as he watches Viktor press his hands against his heart as he glides across the ice, eyes closed. Yuuri knows, without a sliver of doubt, that Viktor is hearing the same melody in his mind. _Non te ne andare._

  _I will keep this,_ Yuuri thinks _. With all my heart I will keep this._

 

\--

 

Yuuri has never been a morning person.

 As a child, his mother told him that he’d take to hiding under the covers until noon, and even then, he’d be a bit of a zombie. Mari-neesan would usually have to drag him out of bed and practically force feed him just so he’d make it in time for classes with something in his stomach. Of course that was before the figure skating, the ballet, and more of the figure skating. Before he knew the feel of tight laces digging into his skin and the balance of his body on the edge of the blade.

 Before Viktor.

 (But even until after that, he still needs at least two cups of coffee in his system to be able to function like an actual human being.)

Now, Yuuri is a twenty-four-year-old figure skater and he usually manages to drag himself out of bed at dawn like a proper athlete. Figure skating, like every other sport, requires rigorous discipline, which means getting up before the sun and falling asleep past midnight, ignoring, and eventually getting used to, the ache in his muscles. Rinse. Repeat. Then repeat some more.

(It had been hell when he’d been in Detroit and also trying to balance training with classes. He has no idea how Pichit-kun managed to do it _and_ be active on social media. For that alone, he’s managed to earn Yuuri’s eternal respect.

Yuuri? Yuuri just moved on from two cups of coffee to three and slept in the back of all the morning classes he couldn’t avoid taking.)

This is one of the few mornings that he wakes up before Viktor, keyed up from the image of Viktor skating. He gets up from the bed and leans against the windowsill, watching St. Petersburg in all its glory. It’s still dark outside, only the first rays of sunlight beginning to peak out from behind the clouds. It’s a good thing to wake up to; a day just a few moments shy of being born. Makkachin has wandered out of the room at some point in the night, probably playing with his ball in the living room already.

There is a lightness in the air, one Yuuri can’t help but settle against. He’d have his coffee later. The sky is grey with flecks of gold lining its clouds.

The room is bare but it wasn’t as bare as it was when they had first arrived. Yuuri still has a hard time comprehending how Viktor, _Viktor Nikiforov,_ who is so full of life and vibrant light, who has so quickly carved out his own spot in Yu-topia with his seemingly endless belongings and his eternal enthusiasm, can live in some that’s place so _empty._

When they first arrived, it had looked as if no one had lived there at all. The furniture was perfectly arranged, the books meticulously aligned, the floor spotless, as if the apartment had been put together by an unknown spirit and frozen in ice for them to find.

Viktor had glanced down at Yuuri with something like rapidly hidden hesitance in his eyes, like he knew what Yuuri was thinking. Like he thought Yuuri was going to judge him on something as silly and insignificant as bare walls, when Yuuri had followed him for twelve years of his life and nearly halfway across the planet. Yuuri had dropped the duffel bag he was holding without thinking and kicked off his shoes. They had slammed against the opposite wall, laying haphazardly on the floor. Nothing had seemed more out of place in the pristine apartment.

But then, Viktor had beamed at him and tackled Yuuri to the couch and the ice shattered.

After that first day, it wasn’t hard work for Yuuri to carve out his own space in St. Petersburg. Not when Viktor so freely encouraged it. When Viktor would take Yuuri’s sweaters and nuzzle against it in the couch whenever Yuuri found himself out of the apartment without it. He always forgot to put it back, too, and Yuuri would just find it at the most random of places: at the back of the couch, on the dining room table; one time, he found it on the bathroom window. Not that Yuuri was any different. It was always comforting, having Viktor’s scent pressed against his cheek against the biting Russian cold.

Neither of them had been particularly tidy and before they knew it, their books and clothes and shoes have mingled together in incoherent piles at different corners of the apartment.

Pictures had slowly scattered themselves against the pale blue walls. Yuuri. Yuuri and Makkachin. Yuuri and Viktor. Yu-topia and Hasetsu. Viktor puts one up nearly every morning, beaming like a small child allowed free reign at the candy store. Yuuri busies himself with buying the essentials needed to actually live in an apartment. Something Viktor has neglected to do in all the years he’s lived there.

(When Yuuri had learned on the second day that Viktor barely has any cooking utensils in his kitchen because he always ate out, he barely even thought about going down to the store and buying some. His Russian—he had some degree of fluency since living in Detroit and taking two years of Russian for his foreign language requirement in college. It got marginally better since living with Viktor—is broken and halting. Yuuri barely makes it home after three hours with all the necessary ingredients.

But still, it went about as well as could be expected.

Viktor had come home that night from a meeting with the Russian Skating Federation to katsudon served on the table, complete with candles and roses. It had been nice, Yuuri thought, being the one who was spontaneously romantic for a change.

The look on Viktor’s face had been well worth it.)

And it is perhaps a bit alarming how quickly the two of them settled into the folds of domesticity. How simply they managed to divide chores between each other.

(Viktor goes to the market because his Russian is better and it would be much quicker but he promises to stick to the list Yuuri gave him because Yuuri does not believe in doing anything in excess.

They alternate on the dishes and laundry.

Yuuri cooks because Viktor cannot cook to save his life but Viktor helps in the meal preparation.

Whoever wakes up last gets to make the bed. Usually, it’s Yuuri.

Yuuri doesn’t really mind. Not when Viktor stares at him, leaning against the windowsill and sipping his morning coffee, as if Yuuri was the most precious thing in the world.)

Sometimes, Yuuri has trouble remembering that barely a year ago, Viktor Nikiforov was nothing more than an unattainable fantasy plastered on his walls, smiling his most charming smiles.

(Viktor never smiled at Yuuri like that; never smiled at Yuuri with anything akin to control. His smiles when he’s with Yuuri are wide and open. Full of laughter and love and life.)

Sometimes, it feels as if Yuuri’s lived in this entire apartment his entire life. Hasetsu will always be home, but Viktor’s apartment is starting to feel a lot like it, too.

He’s nearly startled out of his thoughts as strong arms wrap around his waist, their weight and warmth familiar. A chin hooks on his shoulder and there is puffs of breath ghosting around his face. Strands of hair tickles his mouth. The sun is beginning to rise. The warmth of its rays feel as if they’re from a dream. The new day is coming soon.

“You’re up early,” Viktor murmurs against his ear. There is a smile in his voice.

“I-I couldn’t sleep,” Yuuri says. “I saw you at the rink last night.”

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice is disapproving but Yuuri doesn’t feel hear his smile disappear or tighten. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I was surprised,” Yuuri says. “It was really beautiful, Vitya.”

Viktor’s hand tightens around his waist as he presses closer to Yuuri.

“I made it for you,” he says.

“I know.”

They watch the sun rise together. At the golden light casting shadows across Viktor’s apartment.

“Let’s leave early today. It’s the first day of training,” Yuuri says. “I want to get a head start.”

“Ah yes. My Yuuri, always eager to be the best.” Yuuri doesn’t see Viktor’s smile widen but he can feel it stretch against his own. “That’s good because I love showing you off and we have a lot of work to do.”

“I promised you a gold medal.”

“You promised me five,” Viktor says. “And I plan on collecting soon. Coaching is hard work, you know?”

Yuuri moves away from Viktor’s grasp so that he can turn towards him. Viktor makes a whine of disappointment at the loss of contact, but quickly brightens when Yuuri wraps his arms around his shoulder and presses their foreheads together.

“Is it?” Yuuri asks. “I never knew.”

“It is,” Viktor says, breathless.

“Then what should we do first, _coach_?” Viktor shivers against his touch. Yuuri doesn’t know where he manages to find the courage to speak like this but there is a joy in it. In seeing Viktor’s pupils blown wide and knowing that he is the reason for it. “I wouldn’t want to leave you disappointed, after all.”

“Come back to bed,” Viktor says. “And we’ll see what we can do.”

“Training starts in an hour,” Yuuri says.

“Then we have time.”

They don’t and Yuuri wants to get a head start, but Viktor is asking and Yuuri never has any real reason to say no to him.

“Alright,” he says. The sun is warm behind him. Viktor’s arms are warmer. Yuuri doesn’t doubt that time itself will bend over backwards just to give Viktor a few more minutes in bed. Just to get that light in his eyes, and that wide, wide smile of his. Yuuri knows that he definitely will.

Sunlight shines gold against bare walls. Their pictures glint across it, like little dots of stars; beacons of lights. Viktor’s hair glimmers silver against his white sheets. His grip is strong and Yuuri cannot help but lean into it.

 

\--

 

They arrive ten minutes late to practice.

 

\--

 

The Russian rink, Yuuri has come to find, is absolutely nothing like anything he’s seen before.

First of all, it’s huge. Much larger than the Ice Castle. About twice the size of the rink he trained in at Detroit.

But its vastness went well past its size. It seems as if everyone there existed on a plane that was larger than this world. There was Viktor of course, who can still knock him breathless with a small glance, and Yurio who is pure teenage rage locked up in the small body of a fifteen-year-old with too long hair. He regularly gave off the impression that he would challenge God himself to a shouting match if it meant getting his way (whether or not he’ll win is another question entirely. and from what he’s seen, Yuuri’s not willing to bet one way or another.)

Lilia’s eyes have this way of raking over Yuuri like he’s a particularly interesting insect she’d love to dissect and Mila always gives the impression that she’s privy to some secret knowledge that’s the key to the universe. And Yakov is the most terrifying of them all, looking legitimately murderous at all hours of the day.

Georgi is quite possibly the most mild-mannered of them all and even he’s… overenthusiastic when it comes to his emotions.

Next to them, Yuuri always feels incredibly small. More than he usually does, anyway. He’s been training there for nearly three weeks now and it’s almost too easy to slink back into the safety of the back like he usually does, but Yuuri promised Viktor a gold medal and he plans on delivering. He can’t afford to fail now.

“YOU CALL THAT A QUAD FLIP?” Coach Feltsman shouts. “I’ve seen better forms from ten-year-olds! Your form is sloppy and you’re not getting enough height and your posture is _off_!”

Coach Feltsman leans back, as if daring Yuuri to answer back but Yuuri just nods and circles back. He’s been doing the routine for hours now and exhaustion is creeping into his limbs but Coach Feltsman is right; he may be able to land the quad but it’s nowhere near perfect. Yakov Feltsman is not his coach. Viktor is. But Viktor is on his way to Moscow for the Russian Nationals—

He had clung to Yuuri until the very last moments before his flight and Yuuri had laughed and laughed even though there was a heaviness in his chest.

“Win for me, Vitya,” he had said. “Think of me when you skate and win for me.”

Viktor had smiled and nodded and kissed Yuuri.

 —and tomorrow, Yuuri will be on his way to the Japanese Nationals. In two days, Yuuri will be competing and he’s still not satisfied with his quad flip.

Yakov had stayed behind as a favor to Viktor, a favor Yurio that had been oddly alright with even though it would deprive him of a coach for a day. He had only glared at Yuuri this time, which coming from him, is almost sweet.

Yakov’s coaching methods are a lot like Viktor’s, critical and completely uncompromising; though it’s with a lot more shouting. Once he got accustomed to the shouting, it’s an easy habit to fall back into and Yuuri takes in the criticisms like stepping into a warm bath. It’s comforting, in its own way, and makes him a much better skater.

Yuuri closes his eyes and tries to listen for his music, reaching deep into his bones.

_My Yuuri…_

Viktor’s voice is a gentle caress in his mind as he runs through the routine again. The first, and what he thought at the time as only, time he landed a quad flip, he had been thinking of Viktor. Thinking of catching up with those gentle waves of movements, of the hurricanes of his jumps. He practiced it as a triple but when he performed it in front of Yu-chan, he had been so lost in his own world. The story had called for a quad and Yuuri didn’t even have to think before he digs his toe pick into the ice and jumps.

He spins through the air and knows even before he lands that it’ll go perfectly.

His free leg glides cleanly from behind him, and Yuuri looks up, breathing hard. Memories are easy places to get lost in, and even better at helping you find your way back to where you need to be. Coach Feltsman is looking at him, eyes unreadable.

“That’s enough,” he says with a sigh. “Get some rest, Katsuki.”

Yuuri bites his lip. There is a familiar clenching in his heart but it’s the clenching that’s almost become natural. A pain that he’s long since gotten used to. It’s not the worst he’s had.

“I-I can do it again, Coach,” he says. “If it’s not—”

“I said it’s enough,” Coach Feltsman says. “It’s late and you have to leave early tomorrow and I have to leave right now if I have a chance to make it in time. Get some sleep.”

Yuuri nods sharply. “Hai,” he says.

He skates towards the bars. Yakov, to Yuuri’s surprise, waits until Yuuri’s undone his shoes and is ready to leave. He fiddles with the cap of his thermos the entire time, glaring at a blank spot on the wall. When Yuuri’s put away his skates in his duffle bag and dusted himself off, Yakov pushes the thermos towards Yuuri, waiting expectantly.

Yuuri takes it, feeling more than a little bemused.

“Drink,” Yakov says gruffly. His eyes are trained straight ahead, away from Yuuri. “It’ll warm you up after being on the ice so much.”

Yuuri takes a sip. Russian tea, he notes. Thankfully without the jam. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the strange ways westerners make their tea but it’s still better than nothing.

“Whatever it is Viktor had been doing to you, it’s clearly working,” Yakov says. “I’ve had my eye on you since your senior debut. You’re a great skater, if only you could’ve landed your damn jumps.”

Yuuri looks up, surprised.

Yakov seems to sense it, despite looking at anywhere but Yuuri.

“Don’t look like at me like that, I’ve trained Viktor since he was a boy. He may be a genius but he still learned from _me._ We’re not very different and Viktor learned everything he knows from me.”

It’s the closest thing to a compliment that he’s going to get from Yakov and Yuuri feels a little light-headed from it. Viktor is the type of coach to shower him with compliments, even for the smallest of victories. This one feels more tangible, somehow, more hard-won.

The rink is quiet; they’re the only ones left. Everyone else is in Moscow for the Russian Nationals. They step out together into the cool Russian air. It’s a moonless night with only a few stars escaping the dark cloud’s chokehold. Yakov stares straight ahead, watching the cars passing by.

“Thank you Coach Feltsman,” Yuuri says with a sharp nod. He hands back the thermos. Yakov takes it, eyeing it distastefully.

“Don’t come back without a gold,” he says. “I don’t take second bests.”

Yakov Feltsman is not his coach; Viktor is. But Viktor is also his competitor, someone choreographing and learning and perfecting his own routines, while travelling across the world.

From what Yuuri’s seen, Viktor is like a son to Yakov.

Yuuri’s lips pull up without him noticing. There is a lightness in his chest, like air’s filled it in place of the ice creeping into his lungs earlier, shortening his breath. Somehow, despite the gruff, angry manner that Yakov says it in, it seems almost… kind.

“I will,” Yuuri says with a sharp nod. “I’ll win.”

Yakov nods sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

“Good,” he says.

 

\--

 

**You**

congrats on the medal

 

**Yurio**

shut up. i could have gotten gold if you and the old man weren’t so distracting and disgusting at the rink

 

**You**

a silver’s not bad yurio

**Yurio**

SHUT UP

AND DON’T CALL ME YURIO THAT’S NOT MY NAME

 

**You**

whatever you say

okasaan’s been asking if you wanted some katsudon

please say yes

i’m this close to getting her to give me the recipe

i’ve been trying to get that recipe since before i left for america

 

**Yurio**

... katsudon wouldn’t be bad

i wouldn’t hate it if you brought me some

i mean

I NEED KATSUDON I JUST LOST TO THE OLD MAN

I AM IN SHAME FOR LIFE

I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU

 

**You**

!!

YES!!!

she agreed to give me the recipe

mari-neesan is glaring daggers at me

you’re the best yurio!!

**Yurio**

...... shut up katsudon. you’re embarassing.

i only care about the katsudon

say hi to yuuko and the triplets for me

**You**

I will!

 

\--

 

Yuuri’s first medal in the Junior division came at his debut, when he was thirteen.

It was a bronze. He knows this because when he looks at the trophy case his parents had set up at home, the one displayed right at the center is a bronze one. His first medal in an international competition and his mother’s favorite.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened, not the podium, not the short program. Not the crowd cheering or what it felt like to feel the weight of a medal around his neck in a different country. He couldn’t remember if it felt different to win in a place that spoke a language he didn’t understand.

He remembers falling three times in the free skate. Not bad falls. He always manages to get enough rotations, but they were falls. And they had cost points.

Alright, not all of them were falls, technically speaking; his hand just touched down on the ice on the second one but the result was roughly the same: he lost points. He failed. His program wasn’t as perfect as he wanted it to be.

He remembers the boy who had won gold. He was from Brazil, Yuuri thinks, though he can’t remember his name. He had been seventeen at the time. He stopped competing after that, never going onto Seniors. His program had been perfect, spins so tight it almost looked as if the air was pressing down on him, crushing him as he soared through the air. His free skate had been invigorating and terrifying at the same time; he danced through the ice as if each note was slowly choking the life out of him. He had been the oldest of the Juniors—most of his peers had already moved on to Seniors and he’d been left with the newcomers like Yuuri—and he’d been the only one to dare having a quad in his free skate.

At the end of it, he had raised his arms with his head bowed, like a puppet that was only held up by strings. No one had been able to look away.

At the podium, he had looked at the crowd and there were tears in his eyes. Yuuri couldn’t remember if he had looked happy or sad, only that there were tears. Maybe he had known that it was his last year. Maybe he was terrified that he couldn’t keep up the pretense that he was actually good enough to be standing where he was, like Yuuri had been, even though he had been amazing. Maybe he was simply delighted at having won at last and exhaustion confused his body into thinking that joy was grief.

Whatever the case, he stopped skating after that.

(Yuuri can’t remember his name. He thinks and thinks and thinks but it’s slipped from his memory, buried against countless names and faces on the ice that have come and gone.

He never came back, see.)

Better to go out on top, Yuuri had thought at the time. Than to fall into obscurity after failure after failure after failure. That boy didn’t fail and he had a gold medal around his neck. Yuuri did and he stood on the bottom step of the podium. No one would remember him, he remembered thinking. No one would take a second glance at him after it.

Viktor always tells him that he’s a great skater but most of the time, he still feels like that thirteen-year-old kid who fell three times in his free program.

He’s been good with his jumps recently, landing them more often than not. He’s found his focus, Viktor says, but Yuuri knows that it’s only a matter of time before he falls again. He knows himself enough to know that he’s _good_ but it takes a lot more than that to be great. Yuuri’s never really been the most consistent of skaters.

 _Well then,_ he thinks. _I might as well make it a jump they’ll never forget. Like the crashing of flames as it reaches its crescendo._

Skating is one of the few things he can claim as his. He thinks that, maybe, it may have been his first love, even before Viktor. Skating is where he first learned how to love his life and all of its intricacies. You can’t really skate without falling in love a little, letting yourself fall and fall and fall, the pain waiting at the bottom, ready to pierce through your heart. Skating is the bruises that come when you fall on the ice, but it’s also the feeling of _soaring._

Competing, with its hard rules and uncompromising scores, may have been the exact opposite of the love Yuuri had found.

It’s a hard thing to remember, especially when he stood on the bottom podium. When he finishes sixth and every time he falls. Skating is love, in its gentle movements and all its harsh falls. Skating is love and Yuuri is a skater at heart, even before he’s a competitive one. Viktor helped him remember that.

Love, Yuuri thinks. Love and life. It’s what skating is for him. He’ll be alright, as long as he remembers that.

Finding Viktor and skating and everything else that came with it felt a lot like being reborn. Yuuri is still Yuuri, something Viktor is always quick to remind him, and he will always be Yuuri. But now, he’s found a little piece of himself that helps him create music with his body. That helps him lands his jumps perfectly and tell the stories he wants to tell, unhindered.

Dying for Yuuri had meant losing that part. It’s been his only lifeline for so long and he thinks he may have lost it when Vicchan died and he lost Sochi.

It seems so silly when he says it out loud. Vicchan is a dog and Yuuri’s spent more time away from him that he did with him. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. It shouldn’t have felt as if a part of his soul had been chipped away.

But Yuuri’s never told anyone that losing Vicchan felt like the snapping of the final thread that tethered him to his life. Competition has consumed him for so long, with all the terror and pressure and anxieties that came with it, that he thinks he may have lost the important things along the way.

Viktor isn’t with him for the Japanese Nationals but that’s okay. He’s brought Yuuri this far and now he knows he’s not alone. His family is watching him and he has friends that love him. It is enough.

The first notes of Yuri on Ice echoes across the air and he spreads his arms, open as if awaiting an embrace, head raised to the sky. It is his song. The song about his life and the song is about everything else that came after.

He is reborn, like a bird soaring to the sky after finally remembering that it has wings.

He skates.

And he wins. The gold is heavy around his neck, a weight that’s more familiar than it should be, but Yuuri holds his head high. The crowd cheers and Yuuri smiles. He knows that it is not the end. Not yet.

 _I will not be forgotten,_ he thinks, _and this is only my beginning._

 

\--

 

His Bad Day comes, as they are wont to come, two days after winning the Nationals, just as he touches down on the St. Petersburg airport. He’s long since stopped trying to keep track of what triggers it, only that it happens and that sometimes he can make himself work through it alone, and sometimes he can’t. He thinks that maybe it’s his mind trying to remind him that he’s not worth it, that he’s going to crash and burn soon and that everything will fall apart. He’s lost so many times and this apparent winning streak he’s on is just a ruse. The feeling grates on his skin.

He won and now he feels like shit. It’s not the first time it’s happened.

Yuuri’s been to countless psychiatrists but he’s never quite figured out how to snap himself out of the negativity his mind tends to fall into. He takes medication for the worst of it but this isn’t the worst of it. He never likes how it makes him feel; the way his thoughts become foggy and sluggish. His medication is for worst-case scenarios and Yuuri’s been here before. He knows that it can get much, much worse.

He’d been on edge the entire flight, and for some reason, seeing Viktor’s beaming face and welcoming arms, pushes him over it.

It’s a subtle thing—Yuuri’s been through enough panic attacks to know how to distinguish between them: There are the ones where he just crashes and burns, and the ones where he quietly falls apart—but Viktor notices the moment Yuuri is within a few feet. His arms drop to his side and the smile slips off his face. Worry shines in his eyes.

He’s always been alarmingly good at picking up on Yuuri’s emotional state. Most of the time, anyway, even if he doesn’t always know what to do with them.

“We’re only a few minutes away,” he says gently, when Yuuri reaches him. “Are you ready to go? The car’s already waiting for us.”

Are you alright, he asks with his eyes. Will you be okay?

Yuuri nods tightly, fists clenched at his side.

Viktor gives him a small smile and walks towards the exit, Yuuri by his side. He’s careful not to touch Yuuri, which Yuuri is eternally grateful for, even though Yuuri can see how much he wants to. How he just wants to wrap his arms around his shoulder and nuzzle against his neck. Viktor just came from his own Nationals and is probably exhausted but he still took the time to fetch Yuuri and Yuuri can’t even summon the energy to let him have what he wants.

The thought makes guilt fill his lungs even more and claw its way into his throat.

He forces himself to take Viktor’s hand. The touch is warm and strong. There is sweat coating both of their palms. Viktor startles slightly at the contact.

“Yuuri…”

“I missed you.” His voice comes out choked. Strangled. The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease.

“I missed you, too.” They step into the car together. The driver closes the door after them. The car jolts forward a moment later towards Viktor’s apartment. “Can I?”

Yuuri shakes his head. The thought of anything closer than what he has now makes him want to crawl out of his skin.

“Okay,” Viktor says, sounding nothing more than gentle and accepting. The sound of it is like listening to chalk screeching across a blackboard. It makes Yuuri… well, it makes him want to break down and cry.

They spend the car ride in silence and they go to Viktor’s apartment door in silence. Makkachin greets them and Yuuri takes the time to stroke his head before going straight for the bedroom and locking the door behind him. He collapses against the door, breathing hard, and digs his nails into the skin of his palm.

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls. He sounds like he’s sitting with his back against the door as well.

“I’m here,” Yuuri gasps out. “I just—I—”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuuri almost laughs at that. And maybe he does. He doesn’t have a very good sense of himself right now. He doesn’t even know what is wrong with him or maybe it’s everything and there’s nothing he can do but crash and fall and fall and fall and fall—

“I can’t—Not right now—I—”

“Take as long as you need,” Viktor says. Gentle. Gentle and kind. Yuuri doesn’t deserve any part of that.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. “I’m being stupid.”

“Nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re my perfect Yuuri.”

Yuuri digs his nails deeper into his palms; deep enough that he’s worried he’ll draw blood. He realizes with a distant sort of surprise that his eyes and cheeks are wet.

“I love you,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t know when he started crying. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, Yuuri,” Viktor says. There is a pregnant pause. “Do you want to go skating later? The rink will be empty by this time.”

It’s the middle of the night, Yuuri realizes, though he should have known. He hadn’t even taken the time to look at the sky, doesn’t even remember how anything between taking Viktor’s hand and the smooth upholstery of the car. The cold in St. Petersburg is a completely different entity from the cold of Hasetsu, harsh and biting and unforgiving. It is a fog in his brain, clouding his thoughts, making them murky and impossible to navigate.

“Your programs were lovely by the way,” Viktor continues as if there’s nothing wrong. As if they’re not talking from the opposite sides of a locked door. As if Yuuri can’t hear the forced casualness in his voice. As if Yuuri isn’t struggling to remember how to breathe like a normal human being. _As if everything isn’t going wrong and falling apart._ “Though I think you could stand to work on your combinations. They weren’t as clean as they usually were.”

Viktor always tells him the truth, even if it’s not always for the best. Even when his words make Yuuri’s head hurt and a thousand horrible scenarios play over and over and over again on the back of his eyelids. That’s what makes him a good coach.

Yuuri forces his eyes shut. Hugs himself. Tighter and tighter. Just like on the ice. Like he’s just spinning through the air.

He latches onto the important parts.

“You were watching?” he asks.

“Of course I was watching,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t miss any of your programs for the world.”

“I watched yours, too,” Yuuri says. Viktor had had two weeks to choreograph and learn his programs and if it had been anyone other than Viktor, Yuuri would have thought it impossible. But Viktor is Viktor and he seems to pull off the impossible every other day. His program is one of the loveliest things Yuuri’s ever seen, even lovelier than that night in the ice rink. Because if Yuuri’s theme is about finding life again, Viktor’s is about living it. And it had been evident from the very tilt of his head to the point of his fingers.

Yuuri’s watched him all his life but it’s something he hasn’t noticed before. Viktor had never looked more _alive_ than when he skated his programs this season.

“I love you,” Yuuri says.

Right now, it’s the only truth he knows.

“I love you, too,” Viktor says. “I’m right here. As long as you need.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. The clenching in his heart doesn’t disappear. Doesn’t even lessen. His nails have drawn blood from his hands and it’s the only thing keeping his voice even enough to talk. “I’ll come back to you.”

Yuuri has no idea how much time passes where he just sits and tries to breathe, his back pressed against the door while Viktor talks about everything and nothing, before Yurio comes into their apartment shouting all the while as if the world was ending. Or Yuuri had murdered his grandfather or something.

“WHERE’S MY KATSUDON?” he hollers, slamming the door open.

It’s hard to miss, even if Yuuri is locked in a different room entirely.

There’s the sound of shuffling feet and rapidly hissed Russian, coming from Viktor who sounds genuinely annoyed at Yurio, which might have been a first. Yuuri only catches some of it. His name, mostly. Something about not feeling well.

Yuuri imagines how Yurio would react to that piece of information and is startled into a snort. He knows that Yurio cares but the teenager has never been the best at showing emotions that isn’t anger or annoyance, least of all worry.

Sure enough, there’s a loud banging on his door, followed by an even louder voice.

“Open up katsudon!” Yurio shouts. “You promised to make me katsudon, remember?”

Yurio had never been particularly good at showing Agape, even if he had been learning it for so long now. He always seemed to find it easier to be angry than to show love. It’s alright. Yuuri’s always been able to see through him. There is the subtle worry in his voice and something that’s not quite hesitance.

He can’t make himself open the door, though.

Instead, he forces himself to take out his phone and send a picture of the recipe to Yurio.

make it yourself, he texts.

A beat and Yurio is shouting again. It is somehow, much louder.

“I CAN’T READ JAPANESE MORON!”

“Yurio!”

Yuuri ignores them both, focuses on the movement of his fingers over the keys. Letter after letter and presses send.

make viktor translate, he texts. and google translate exists for a reason you know. they can even translate pictures now.

Silence. The shuffling of feet. More grumbling in Russian and another hissed argument. Yuuri throws his phone away and rests his head against the door, closing his eyes. Yurio doesn’t shout anymore.

Yuuri counts, timing his breaths with each number. One, two, three, four, five—

A knock on the door.

“Would you like some katsudon?” Viktor asks. His voice is an odd mix of forced cheer and hesitance.

Yuuri thinks and thinks and then forces himself to actually think. He counts until three and his breathing has evened somewhat. He counts up to six and he manages to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

“Yeah,” he calls out. “I’d like that.” The words sound far away, like they’re coming from a distant tunnel. Viktor’s feet shuffle away and there is silence.

He doesn’t say anything else.

 

\--

 

It’s Yurio who barges into Yuuri’s room, kicking the door open and knocking Yuuri over. He didn’t even need to, Yuuri thinks. He’s pretty sure he heard the turn of the key and the door being unlocked.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, rubbing his head. His hand is aching slightly from digging his nails in so deep but it’s a distant sort of pain.  He stares at Yurio.

“I brought you katsudon,” Yurio says gruffly. He closes the door softly behind him and drops down next to Yuuri. He puts down two plates between them.

“C’mon,” Yurio says. “Typical of you to promise me katsudon then hole up in here and leave me to make it myself. You actually won a gold medal this time. Least you can do is eat your stupid katsudon reward.”

Yuuri tentatively reaches for his chopsticks and takes a bite. It’s not bad. Still not as good as his mother’s but it’s a close thing. He just wishes he didn’t feel as if he’s about to throw up.

“I still don’t know what you’re grumbling about,” Yurio says, digging into his own katsudon. “You’re the one who won gold. Me? I lost to that old geezer. It’s pathetic.” He jerks his head towards the door.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything but there is something oddly calming about listening to Yurio complain. Like a constant. His heartbeat is beginning to even out. The world may suddenly disappear from underneath his feet and everything will be turned upside down but Yurio will always be small and angry about everything.

“My routine was perfect, too! If it weren’t for that stupid quad flip Viktor put at the end, ugh—that’s all your fault, by the way! He was already impossible to deal with before but now you’ve given him _ideas._ ”

Yuuri tilts his head. Viktor and Yurio were neck in neck and it wasn’t the technical aspect that that had won Viktor the competition.

“You weren’t focusing on your PCS very well,” he comments idly. His voice is harsh and raspy. Yurio casts him a glance, trying, and failing to hide the triumph in his eyes.

“I wanted to win,” he says.

“You were scared,” Yuuri says. “And it showed.”

Yurio’s performance was absolutely mechanical next to Viktor’s. All the passion and love and anger he’d brought to the Grand Prix seemed oddly absent. It was still beautiful but it also felt cold.

“Why the hell would I be scared? I won the Grand Prix! I’m the best damn skater in that competition!”

Because you won the Grand Prix, Yuuri thinks. Because you’re fifteen and you’re already at the top and if you don’t surpass yourself you have nowhere to go but down. Or lose yourself underneath all that gold, like Viktor had.

When Yuuri had won bronze at Juniors at thirteen, just a year shy of Viktor, they had called him Japan’s ace. The future of Men’s Figure Skating in Japan. Those words twisted his stomach, and was like a physical stab to his heart. His limbs became stiff and he felt the music in his bones seeping out of him and into the ice. It took him another two years to get any medal at all after that, even if it had been a gold.

“I’m going to win Europeans and then I’m going to win Worlds,” Yurio says. His eyes are dark, pinning Yuuri to the ground. “Do you know why?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“Because I’m the best,” Yurio says. “Because no one can take that away from me. Not you, not the old man, and not fucking anyone else. Because I’ve worked my ass off for my entire life to be the skater and I’m not going to let anyone who thinks I’m not enough keep on thinking that. I am the best and I deserve every medal I’ve gotten, do you hear?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just goes back to eating his katsudon. He’s glaring at it like it’s personally insulted his grandfather.

“I’m the best,” Yurio says. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone.”

A part of Yuuri wonders if Yurio is still talking about himself.

Yurio glances at him and rolls his eyes. Some of the hostility fades from his stance.

“Tell me about Yuuko and the triplets,” he says. “They’ve been busy on Instagram.”

And Yuuri does. It’s easy. He doesn’t have to think about being himself for a little while. Just tell the stories of the people he cares about. It’s easier than remembering how to breathe. Easier than telling his heart that it’s going too fast too soon.

Yurio rolls his eyes for most of his story but there’s a small smile playing at his lips. Hasetsu became a little bit of home for him, too, in those weeks he stayed.

“Yurio?” Yuuri says after Yurio’s finished eating.

Yurio looks up. “Eh?” he says.

“Thank you for this.”

Yurio rolls his eyes and punches Yuuri’s shoulder. There’s a small smile on Yuuri’s lips.

“Shut up katsudon,” Yurio says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

If Yuuri squints hard enough, he thinks that he sees a smile on Yurio’s lips, too.

 

\--

 

Viktor presses a finger to his lips, thoughtful. He’s teaching the new Free Skate Program to Yuuri but they both know it’s not quite done.

“It’s missing something,” he says. “Run it for me again, would you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nods. The Free Skate Routine Viktor made for him is difficult but he’s right. It’s still lacking something.

“What about…” Viktor trails off, shaking his head.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor smiles at him.

“It’s nothing,” Viktor says. “Just a silly thought.”

Yuuri runs through the routine again. Rebirth, he had told Viktor. His theme for the second half of the season would be rebirth.

“Yura!”

Yuuri nearly trips at the sound. Yurio isn’t here and Georgi had long since disappeared with his girlfriend. Mila waves at him from the boards.

“Your practice time’s nearly over,” she says. “Would you like to go out? Just the two of us?”

“Mila—”

“You should probably say yes to her, Yuuri,” Viktor says, amused. “She doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“I really don’t.”

“Uh, alright then.”

Mila beams.

“Let’s just run through the Free skate one more time and then we can go,” Viktor says. Yuuri nods and skates through it again. The music is fast, the step sequence punishing, but it’s worth it.

Mila is at his side the moment he’s finished removing his skates.

“I’ll see you later, Vitya,” Yuuri says.

“I’ll be waiting,” Viktor says. “Don’t get into too much trouble,” he tells Mila. Mila just smiles at him.

Yuuri has known, in a distant sort of way, that Mila really enjoys going out with her friends. She drags out everybody in the rink at least once a week and everyone takes it in stride. Viktor laughs, just as excited as she is. Yurio looks murderous and grumbles a lot but goes through with it anyway. Georgi takes his new girlfriend while Yakov merely turns red.

Mila doesn’t really talk much apart from asking his opinions on clothes she’s buying or the food they’re eating. She seems intent on watching him.

“What do you think of this blue skirt?” They’re in their fifth store. Mila holds up a blue skirt that looks too tight to move in. Yuuri knows nothing about clothes.

“Uh—It looks fine?”

Mila grins.

“It does, doesn’t it,” she says. “And it shows off my curves very well.”

Yuuri gulps. Mila is staring at him with an intensity that’s bordering on terrifying. He has a feeling that whatever this is, it’s not just about strolling through the streets.

“I don’t—I don’t really know anything about clothes,” he says.

Mila just laughs at him and pats him on the head. She considers the skirt a moment longer before tucking it under her arm.

“I know, darling,” she says. “I just thought it would be a good time for us to talk. Talking is half the journey, you know?”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Just turns and goes to the cashier, paying for her skirt. She links their arms together and they walk the streets of St. Petersburg together.

She doesn’t say anything until they’ve found a bench and have made themselves comfortable in it. The streets are quiet. There aren’t much people out this late anymore.

“Now about that talk,” Mila says.

“What do you want to talk about?” Yuuri asks nervously.

Mila laughs again. He seems to amuse her, more than anything.

“You are adorable, Yura. Please never change,” she says. “You are a much better shopping companion than the other Yura. He grumbles so much as if he doesn’t enjoy it when I buy him those cat ears.”

“Thank you?”

Mila smiles.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. You do know that he skates Stay Close to Me for you, right?”

Yuuri nods. He doesn’t have to ask what she meant. Viktor had told him about it. Yuuri had been flattered and just a little bit terrified. It’s always a little bit terrifying, knowing that someone loves you _that_ much.

Not that Yuuri doesn’t love him in equal measure.

“And you skated it for him?” she asks.

Yuuri nods again.

Mila is still an enigma, most days. With her sharp eyes and the way she’s the only one who Yurio allows to touch him so freely. The way she barges into the world like a queen and everyone else can’t help but bow to her will. Yuuri catches her watching him sometimes, calculating. He doesn’t know what she wants from him.

She laughs, loud and full.

“The two of you are a real pair, aren’t you?” she says. “Did you know he was the one who choreographed the program that won me the Worlds the first time?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“He was,” Mila says. “And he did it out on a whim. Said he liked my spins. He’s a good person, Yura.”

“I know,” Yuuri says.

“And he pined for you for so long,” Mila tells him. “There was an entire month where he’d just sit around and watch your routines. He was entranced, I swear to God. Yakov was this close to murdering him.”

Yuuri hums. He did not know about that. He knows that Viktor watched some of his routines—he talks about it sometimes. How much he loved Yuuri in this or that—but not the way Mila talked about it. His routines weren’t bad—he has enough confidence in himself to know that—but they’re not the sort of thing he’d go around showing other people, either.

“I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” he says.

“It was,” Mila tells him. “He really loves you, you know?”

Yuuri swallows.

“I know,” he says. “I really love him too.”

Mila sighs. She must see something in his expression because she takes his hand. Her eyes are very kind.

“I’m doing this all wrong. This isn’t… What do you call it in English? Oh yes, the shovel talk! This isn’t that. I just worry for Vitya, you know. He was always good to me and we Russians protect our own, you know?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No I—I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt him, either. Vitya deserves the world.”

Mila smiles again. She squeezes his hand.

“Take care of him, would you?” she says. “He needs it.”

“I love him,” Yuuri says quietly. It feels wholly inadequate to everything Viktor’s given him. Mila smiles like she hears what Yuuri isn’t saying.

“Give yourself some credit, Yura,” she says. “I’m pretty sure he loves you, too.”

 

\--

 

The new Free Skate isn’t working. Yuuri is almost tempted to ask Viktor if they could just go with Yuri on Ice but he already knows the answer. If there’s anyone in the world more stubborn than Yuuri when he gets the idea, It’s Viktor.

Besides, the routine is too beautiful to pass up. If they can make it work then. . .

The best routines always tells a story. Most routines do, actually, but the routines that Yuuri loves best are the ones where he can get lost in. Where the technicalities and points and GOEs fade away until there is only the truth of the story Yuuri is trying to tell.

He didn’t add the quad flip in Yuri on Ice for higher points, though it did give him that. He put it there because it is the part of Viktor that lives inside him. The part of the story where Viktor comes and wraps his arms around Yuuri and doesn’t let go. The quad flip belongs to Viktor but somewhere along the way, Viktor became Yuuri’s.

Rebirth. Yuuri had found his love for skating all over again and everything else that came with it. It was never just about Viktor and a part of Yuuri needs to prove that.

The triple axle had always been Yuuri’s favorite, ever since he first landed it when he was sixteen. It’s almost a quad, see, with three-and-a-half rotations instead of three. It felt a little like him, constantly reaching for something that was just out of his capabilities. It had almost been a quad and he had thought at the time at least, that he can land a not-quite-quad.

Now, Yuuri can land all of his quads, more often than not, and the triple axle is not enough, even though it’s still his favorite. He is not the Katsuki Yuuri who can’t land his quads anymore, but he is still the Katsuki Yuuri who always wants to be better than what he actually is.

The free skate routine Viktor made for the Worlds surpasses Yuri on Ice by far, in terms of technical difficulty, which Yuuri hadn’t even thought possible. It’s the hardest thing Yuuri’s ever skated and a part of him knows that it’s the hardest thing he’ll ever skate.

Until Viktor comes up with something new, that is.

At this time, Viktor and Yuuri finally have a system. Viktor practices his routines for the first half of the day and Yuuri for the second. They’re always first at the rink and the last to leave. It’s a horrible schedule for Viktor but he doesn’t complain. At least Yuuri has the luxury of sleeping in, even if he usually joins Viktor for his morning training, anyway.

(Viktor had just laughed when Yuuri mentioned it.

“You should have seen me from before I met you,” he says. “I was worse.”

And Yakov had heard him and grumbled his assent.

“Trust me Katsuki,” he says. “This is the first time in ten years where he hasn’t spent a single night at the rink.")

 Besides, against all odds, their system seems to be working. They’re getting in their practice time and they’re getting better and better as skaters.

 It’s late and they’re both exhausted and neither of them are satisfied with the free skate.

 He shouldn’t—Not when he’s already struggling to breathe and keep himself upright and he still has the second half to get through. Viktor’s routine is hard enough as it is and it’s more than perfect. It can very well win Yuuri the Worlds, if he skates it cleanly. It is Viktor’s routine and it’s already perfect and Yuuri should be happy with it.

 But then, it wasn’t Viktor who made Yuuri do the impossible in Yuri on Ice. He wasn’t the one who was crazy enough to think that he can land a quad flip right at the end of the program, something no other skater has done before. No, that was all Yuuri.

 And it was also Yuuri who had managed to do it.

 The impossible, Yuuri is starting to realize, is perhaps becoming his specialty.

 He leans forward, putting much more force than is necessary for a triple. He thinks, ‘ _I’m crazy’_ and jumps. 1, 2, 3, 4, 4 1/2—

 He crashes on the ice.

 The fall isn’t as bad as it could have been. Not as bad as he would have thought. Yuuri panicked in mid-air and messed up the angle of the landing, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. A lot of skaters who’ve attempted that jump end up with some form of injury and Yuuri’s relatively fine. He manages to get up right away and he probably could have finished his routine but he doesn’t bother, just heads for the boards, where Viktor is waiting for him, no doubt with a lecture.

 How could he have been so stupid? Thinking he’d actually manage to land it. Some things are called impossible for a reason.

 He looks up and Viktor is watching him, an awestruck expression on his face. No, not just awestruck. It’s the same look he had when Yuuri first tried the quad flip in competition; the look of a man falling in love all over again.

 “That was—You just—”

 “I know,” Yuuri says. “I was stupid.”

 “It was—” He shakes his head, voice dazed. “That was a quad axel.”

 “It was nothing,” Yuuri says. “It was stupid.”

 Viktor shakes his head again. His eyes are shining.

 “That was brilliant, Yuuri!” He wraps his arms around Yuuri. His smile is the widest Yuuri’s seen it. Yuuri is too stunned to hug him back. “I was thinking of it but I thought—A quad axel, Yuuri! And you nearly landed it, too!”

 Yuuri pulls away, shaking his head. But there’s a smile on his lips, too. Viktor’s smiles are always infectious.

 “It’s nothing, Vitya. I just got caught up in the moment,” Yuuri says. “And I fell horribly.”

 “You nearly landed it,” Viktor repeats, still as excited. “And you got enough rotations in it. Just imagine if you can land that cleanly in competition!”

 Yuuri stares at him.

 “Vitya you can’t possibly be thinking—”

 “You’re the one who put it in the routine—”

 “Not on purpose!”

 “And it looks so much better,” Viktor babbles, already lost in his own head. “It’s perfect, Yuuri. It was just what the routine was missing.”

 “Vitya, no one’s ever landed a quad axel in competition.”

 “Then you’ll be the first, just like you’re the first who landed a quad flip at the end of a free skate.” Viktor’s eyes finally focus back onto Yuuri. His eyes are clear. Like he is seeing past the cold and fog that’s ensnaring Yuuri’s limbs, right through the Yuuri who is telling the story he wants to tell. These are the times when Viktor as a coach is at his finest. “You put them in the program, Yuuri. Why?”

 “Because… Because it felt right.”

 Because Yuuri is Yuuri and he knows that he can do it, or that he’s crazy enough to try and try and try and try until he gets it or he manages to irreparably injure himself. Because Yuuri is Yuuri and he’s already won silver at the Grand Prix after nearly retiring and ensnared the heart of Viktor Nikiforov in the process.

Because Yuuri is Yuuri and he’s been doing so many impossible things lately that he was stupid enough to think that he can do one more.

“Then we’ll work on it,” Viktor says. “You need to trust your instincts, Yuuri. This is your story. If your instincts tell you that a quad axel belongs in the middle of it, you need to trust it.”

“No one’s ever landed a quad axel before,” Yuuri says helplessly. Viktor is a hurricane and it’s easy to get swept away in his words but Yuuri’s doubts are a vortex that pulls everything downwards.

Viktor entwines their hands, the ones wearing the gold rings. The touch seems to be for his sake just as much as it is for Yuuri’s.

“Trust your instincts Yuuri,” he says. “Trust in yourself and you’ll never get lost.”

“I trust you,” Yuuri says.

Viktor brings Yuuri’s hand up and kisses his ring.

“Then trust me,” he says. “Trust that I have faith in you and that you can do it.”

 

\--

 

Yurio beats Viktor by a margin of one point in the Europeans. Yuuri can’t tell which of them is more shocked by this.

(Yurio had glared at Viktor and the medal on his chest as if they have personally offended him and Viktor… Viktor just looked shocked and dazed by the entire thing.

He hadn’t gotten anything lower than gold for the past five years.)

The Four Continents happen soon afterwards. Yuuri skates Viktor’s Routine for the first time and he changes the jump layout again. He puts a quad toe loop where the triple axle is supposed to go. The quad axel isn’t ready and to try would just be suicide. Yuuri’s not sure if it will ever be ready. Especially in time for the orlds.

He remembers the music starting and thinking of Viktor and Yurio and Yakov and all the Russian skaters who opened their rink to him. He thinks of his family at Hasetsu and Yu-chan and Minako-senpai. Of the physical ache in his chest made of so much longing. They’re all in the audience right now, cheering him on.

He thinks of the golden dawn of St. Petersburg and Makkachin waiting at their apartment, his tail wagging. Of the pictures dotting their walls and Viktor’s sweater, laying haphazardly on the bathroom window sill.

He wins gold.

He also breaks Viktor’s world record for highest Total score in the Men’s Singles Division.

Viktor looks between him and Yurio that day, when they get back to the hotel and Yuuri is still reeling in shock, mouth parted, as if in a daze. Viktor’s eyes were gleaming with pride. He is still the most decorated male figure skater in history but he’s no longer the best.

The king has been dethroned.

“Thank you,” he says.

 

\--

“I’m scared, Vitya.”

Yuuri has found that it’s easier to talk about things in the dark. When he and Viktor are wrapped up in each other and the warmth of the duvet protects them from the harsh cold.

It’s past nine and the two of them are still in bed. They had just gotten home from the Four Continents and Viktor had decided on a rest day. Yuuri had been too exhausted to argue.

Pre-competition nerves for the Worlds are getting to him, even though it’s still a month away. If he’s not skating, he’s stretching or he’s sleeping or he’s with Lilia, dancing. He is starting to forget that there is a world outside of skating.

“What if—What if I don’t win?”

The quad axel _isn’t_ ready. He keeps messing with the landing despite the fact that a part of him knows, _knows,_ that he can do it. Even as he falls over and over and over again. Even as his knees and elbows collect bruises from hitting the ice so much. Viktor has been nothing but supportive of him but even Yuuri can see he’s worried.

 Yuuri had been leaning against Viktor’s touch, as close as possible. He doesn’t trust himself right now but he trusts Viktor enough.

“What if I screw it up and fail again.”

“Yuuri…” Viktor leans closer and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You are the best skater I have ever seen and no matter what happens at the Worlds, I will be proud of you.”

“I don’t want to fail,” Yuuri says. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” Viktor says. “Skate the story you want to tell and listen to the song in your heart and you couldn’t possibly let me down.”

Yuuri looks around their apartment. He doesn’t know at what point he stopped referring to it as Viktor’s and started calling it theirs. It feels lot like home. There are still days when the homesickness threatens to drown him, when his feet just longs to walk barefoot on wooden floors and sink into the hot springs, but being here, buried in the constant snow and golden dawns, it’s almost… It’s almost serene.

It feels like he belongs.

The sun has properly risen now; trapped in that moment at morning where people go out to savor its gentle warmth before it moves onto scorching heat. The pictures on the wall glint like a fragmented rainbow on their walls.

It shouldn’t be this easy, Yuuri thinks. Things shouldn’t slot into place so perfectly like they were always meant to be there. He shouldn’t feel like he’s lived here his entire life and that this is the only place he wants to be. Not when he can’t even land a stupid, mythical jump that belongs in his routine. Not when he’s not yet the best.

But it is. It is this easy.

“Marry me,” Yuuri breathes. The words come out and they just feel right. Viktor stares at him, eyes wide. “I know you said we’d get married once I won gold but—”

Viktor cuts him off with a forceful kiss. Yuuri melts into it. The feeling is enough.

“Yes,” Viktor says when they pull away. “A thousand times yes. I’ll marry you no matter what happens.”

“I love you,” Yuuri says. It is the realest thing in his mind. He holds onto it because some days, it feels as if it’s the only thing he has. He says it to himself in every language he knows and hopes that they all mean the same thing.

Love and Life. It’s a hard thing to balance but Yuuri can damn well try.

“I love you, too,” Viktor says. “Always. And I’m going to marry you. Do you want Katsuki-Nikiforov or Nikifo—You know what that sounds ridiculous. Viktor Katsuki sounds much better.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri laughs. Viktor laughs with him. He brings their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s ring. It is enough. This apartment full of love and his life on the ice. It is enough.

He has been doing the impossible for so long and now and he’s accomplished the greatest impossibility of all: he is happy.

This life he’s built, it is more than enough.

 

\--

 

Yuuri’s been living in St. Petersburg for four months and he thinks that his Russian is starting to get better. Nowhere near fluent, but it’s better.

Learning a new language has always been difficult. Yuuri knows a bit of Russian from college classes but it hadn’t prepared him for being dropped in the middle of a city filled with native speakers.

Knowing the individual words is not enough, and there’s always a lot of them to learn, but you also had to know how those words fit together in the sentence. How the harsh lilt of the Russian accent morphs the words into an intelligible sentence. Knowing the syntax and technicalities isn’t enough, though Yuuri wishes it was. You know how things are supposed to slot one after the other, but executing it is a different matter entirely. Knowing what you want to say and how to say it does not mean that you’ll actually be able to say it.

It feels a bit like learning a new jump; you know what you’re supposed to do, how you’re supposed to do it, and what’s supposed to happen when you do it but the execution just isn’t there.

The feel of crashing against the ice is starting to become familiar again.

It’s like learning the quad salchow all over again, only it’s a thousand times worse. He falls and falls and falls. Sometimes, Yuuri can’t help but think that the impossible is just that: impossible.

Then he remembers the pride in Viktor’s eyes and the determination in Yurio’s and he tries again.

He remembers Viktor kissing his ring after agreeing to get married. He remembers how love had wrapped around his heart like a warm blanket against the cold of St. Petersburg.

It’s getting better, though. He tells himself that over and over again. Sometimes he lands on two feet and sometimes he puts a hand on the ice. It’s not perfect but it’s getting better. He tells it to himself again and circles again. Viktor had forbidden him from doing it without his supervision. Viktor had just gone to the bathroom. He’ll be back soon.

Yuuri needs to get this jump right in a month’s time. He tries again and two foot’s the landing.

“ _Are you seriously trying to do a quad axel_?”

Yuuri squeaks, nearly tripping over the ice. Viktor had gone to the bathroom. He had thought he was alone.

“Yurio,” he says. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Yurio looks back at him, completely unimpressed. He’s not in his skating gear but Yuuri thinks that he can see his duffel bag in one of the benches. His hair is tied up in a messy half-bun.

“I was going to get some practice,” Yurio says, nose wrinkling. “Otabek was in town so we went sightseeing and I couldn’t practice earlier and then I saw you doing _that._ I thought that was just a joke when I see it in practice but you’re actually doing it. What the hell Katsudon?!”

Yuuri finds himself smiling slightly, mood already lightening. For some reason, he finds it hard to be angry or insulted at anything Yurio says. It’s hard to take that sort of thing seriously, especially when Yurio had taken to randomly turning up on their apartment with his cat on his off days to lounge around on their couch and eat ice cream and do his homework. Or the times he takes over their kitchen because according to him ‘he still can’t read Japanese and he’s not missing out on katsudon because of it.’

“I had to find a way to beat you, didn’t I?” Yuuri says.

Yurio rapidly turns red and Yuuri has to smother a laugh.

“Yurio!” Viktor’s back from the bathroom. There is a wide smile on his face. Yuuri finds himself automatically relaxing in his presence. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re crazy old man,” Yurio says. “Who even _tries_ a quad axel?”

“Oh you saw that?” Viktor waves a careless hand. He turns to Yuuri, frowning slightly. “I told you not to try that without me.”

His words are disapproving but his eyes are fond. Yuuri shrugs helplessly.

“Why’d you even let him do it?” Yurio demands.

“Me?” Viktor blinks innocently. “Don’t blame this on me, Yurio. The jump was all Yuuri’s idea.”

Yurio turns a furious glare towards him. Yuuri continues to smile serenely at him, waiting. He waits some more. A few beats of silence and Yurio finally breaks.

“It doesn’t matter!” he shouts. “I’m winning gold and there’s nothing either of you old men can do to stop it!”

He storms off towards his duffel bag and begins to violently tie on his laces.

Yuuri just smiles. Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand.

“Remember to stretch properly, Yura,” he calls out in Russian. Yuuri’s getting much better at the language.

“Da,” Yurio mutters, not looking at the two of them.

“He’ll grow out of it,” Yuuri says to Viktor. Viktor smiles at him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You ready for another go?” Yuuri nods.

Viktor doesn’t play the music but it doesn’t matter; Yuuri can still feel the music in his bones. He glides through the ice. It feels like second nature now, after doing it so many times. Nearing the second half and it’s finally time. He skates backwards, throws a backwards glance, catching Viktor’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yurio watching him, arms crossed over his chest, completely still. His back leg glides forward, body weight forward, then he jumps, putting as much force into it as he can manage.

 _I am home,_ he thinks. _I am home and it is the only thing that matters._

He spins through the air; once, twice, thrice, four times, and another…

He lands cleanly, arms extended.

He looks to Viktor, breathing hard. Silence is ringing in his ears. Viktor opens his arms, mouth open wide in a bright smile. There are tears in his eyes. Yuuri leaps into his embrace.

“I’m so proud of you,” Viktor says into his hair.

Distantly, Yuuri thinks he can hear Yurio skating furiously in the rink. If anyone can find a way to skate furiously while doing basic stretches, it’s definitely Yurio.

“I think I’m proud of me too,” Yuuri whispers. His eyes are wet but it doesn’t matter.

He is home, he thinks.

He is home and that is the only thing that matters.

 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

 

 

** Katsuki Yuuri Lands the First Ever Quad Axel in Competition **

**By: Andrea De Luna**

 

Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s top-skater, silver medalist at the Grand Prix Final, and now the World title holder in Men’s Figure Skating sets skating history as he lands the first ever quad axel in Men’s Figure Skating History for his Free Program in the World Championships, breaking his own record of highest total score for men’s singles figure skating.

The score lands him in first place with his coach and fiancé, Viktor Nikiforov, placing second and Yuri Plisetsky placing third.

Japan’s ace has been breaking and setting records all season, starting with his Short Program: On Love: Eros, which scored the highest technical score in skating history. He has also broken his coach and fiancé Viktor Nikiforov’s longtime record of highest Free Program score with his Free Skate Routine in the Grand Prix Final: Yuri on Ice.

According to his coach, he had been planning the jump since after the Japanese Nationals.

“It wasn’t originally in the program I made for him,” Nikiforov had said. “But Yuuri’s always been keen on surprising me. He jumped it out of nowhere during our practice and it looked so much better. It hadn’t been perfect at the time, of course, but Yuuri’s an amazing skater and it wasn’t long before he got it.”

Katsuki Yuuri has stated that he still plans to continue on figure skating for the next season.

“There’s still so much to do,” he said. “I’m excited to learn what other things I can explore and find out about myself. I haven’t reached my peak yet and there are still so many possibilities to explore. Skating has given me love and life and now I’m interested in what I can give it in return.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_~fini~_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://katsuki-nikifcrov.tumblr.com)! Talk to me about these boys or bother me about my WIPs


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